


Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

by BipolarMolar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Het, Morrissey - Freeform, One-sided het, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BipolarMolar/pseuds/BipolarMolar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a Sherlock songfic of Morrissey’s “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now”. It describes John and Sherlock at different times in their lives, with the lyrics of the song to accompany it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Song lyrics are in bold, narrative is in standard text._

 

JOHN: Pre-ASIP

**I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour**

He’d sworn he’d never be like his sister. He admired her for many things certainly: Her blunt honesty, her pragmatism. But what he had never once revered… was her dependency on alcohol. Be it beer, wine, Alco pops, Harry drank it. Anything to fill the emptiness in my life” she’d sniffle pathetically. John would glance around his flat, with its tan walls, beige sofa and caramel (no, tan) coloured carpet and sigh. Even now, she would wail (in a bright and airy café- too clean and happy for the pair of them) “I can’t help it! I’ve had a hard life! You don’t understand!” John would lean against the smart wooden chair, his cane accidentally banging violently against his knee, his scar on his shoulder stretching painfully. And now, here he was… drunk. But heaven knows I’m miserable now Staring sleepily down into the frosted depths of his beer, as if the bottom of the glass held the very meaning of his existence, he felt self-loathing curl in his belly. His life was empty. Devoid of meaning. The army had abandoned him when he’d grown too…lame for them; and his sister was in no position to accept him into her life. He took another sip, as if the cool mixture could cool the searing shame in his stomach. He reached for his glass, surprised to see he’d finished it already. It was as empty as his life.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _JOHN: During ASIP._

 

But then things got better. Or rather they suddenly accelerated he realised, one day while preparing tea for Sherlock, that it had been weeks since he had drank. Weeks since he had pressed the dark, hard and oddly-reassuring barrel of his SIG against his forehead. Feeling the cold metal moving slightly with the pulsing of his temple used to calm him. A soldier, a man of action, he had always held lives in his hands- whether he was taking them or saving them. To know he had one last thing that he had utter control over pleased him. To know that when the tan-coloured house and tan-coloured life got too much for him, he had an exit, a back out clause. A Get Out Of Jail Free Card. And it had been… weeks. He smiled at the thought and brought Sherlock’s tea in.

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. Misery continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the lyrics take us through John taking on the new job at the clinic and Sherlock's thoughts on the elusive, irrepressible Irene Adler.

_JOHN: During TBB._

**I was looking for a job, and then I found a job**

It wasn’t exciting (but then- could anything replace the thrill of the war? Or the mania he would face, chasing criminals with Sherlock? ) but it paid. He was ridiculously over-qualified…but it paid. And that was the important thing.

So now he would examine and prescribe, examine and prescribe. __

**_And heaven knows I’m miserable now_ **

He would picture Sherlock (as he told Mrs Wooster that no, she did _not_ have cancer, that mole on her back was actually a _pimple_ ) his face alight with glee as he studied a corpse bleeding on the floor. The sheer, blinding happiness on his face.  The joy of jumping into your job with utter joy.  God, how he envied him.

****

**_In my life_ **

**_Why do I give valuable time?_ **

**_To people who don’t care if I live or die?_ **

Sometimes, he found himself dismissive of his patients, even rude. Their refusal to accept his medical opinion (especially when it came to people and their children) would infuriate him. Somewhere in his brain, a low baritone voice, similar to Sherlock’s sophisticated tones, would rumble “Idiots. _So_  unobservant.”  And he would have to smile professionally, making sure the clock was in his range of vision, internally counting the minutes until he was free.

****

_SHERLOCK: During ASIB_

**_What she asked of me at the end of the day_ **

**_Caligula would have blushed_ **

He could appreciate beauty. He’d told John as much (during the case which John fondly referred to as “A Study in Pink” when they’d happen to glance up at a star-studded sky.) He could appreciate beauty.

But it didn’t mean he cared about it. It was a science like anything else. Not quite as reliable or logical as physics or chemistry, but a science. Beauty in humans came down to evolution, science. Youth and strength is seen as desirable amongst humans because it used to be a sign that they were able to mate. Wide eyes and lips are appreciated in a similar way because they are usually found in youth. Old or lame animals are seen as undesirable because they are the weakest link in the pack, unable to breed with, unable to hunt or nurture the young. Useless.

He knew Irene Adler was beautiful. To most people.  Her wide eyes and lips were emphasised by make-up, her body was feminine, delicate but healthy. But Sherlock didn’t see that when he gazed upon her. He saw a woman, an anomaly, someone who had outwitted him, challenged him. And _that_ was fascinating. But never beautiful.

Sex was not a mystery to it, because he found mysteries intriguing, worth solving. Sex was just more transport, but fortunately, one he did not have to obey. Sleep and fuel was necessary, but his body, pale and thin and so much slower than his mind, was simply necessary for his brain to function. A container that both housed and hampered his bubbling mind.

So when she offered to make him beg for mercy “Twice” disappointment had swelled in his chest. The bond they shared was mental, not physical. Her yearning to consummate it was so…boring.  She told him what she’d do to him- given the chance (foreign but equally boring), things boring people would call filthy, her pupils dilated and her cheeks reddened. She spoke of decadent things through lipstick-sticky lips and Sherlock shivered. Not from arousal. From disgust.

**_“You’ve been in the house too long” she said_ **

**_And I (naturally) fled_ **

He ran from 221B, his coat whipping around his calves, seeking refuge in the clear, cool indifference of London at midnight.

SHERLOCK:

**_In my life why do I smile?_ **

**_At people who I’d much rather kick in the eye_ **

It was inevitable that he would find himself surrounded by idiots. In a crowd, in a lift, in life. AndersonSallyDonovanSebastianWilkes…the names were irrelevant.

But when the game was on, when he took chase on London’s criminals, when he was sat at home with a puzzle, tea in hand, John at his side taking notes…

Then misery was an alien concept to him.


End file.
